Dancers In the Dusk
by littlegeekpenguin
Summary: Almost twenty years ago they helped arrest her. Now in 1985 the dynamics between the retired Twilight Lady and her masked rivals have changed along with the rest of the world. No non-cannon pairings. A different POV on the events/history of Watchmen.
1. Who Are We Now

New York City in October could hardly be considered warm. The thick polluted sludge that passed as snow in the city had yet to hit, but the sweltering days of early September were long since gone and forgotten. It was hardly surprising, then, that the chilled breeze which swirled into her bedroom was more than enough to wake the half naked women from her sound sleep. The cold air tickled the back of her neck, waving a few strands of shocking red hair that had escaped her nighttime braid lazily through the air as she groaned into awareness. The neon green lines of the clock dutifully displayed the hour as half past three in the morning. She glanced around groggily, trying to find the source of her sudden departure from dreamland and the two panes of her picture window waved to her slightly. Another small whisper of autumn breeze flowed into the room as she watched, waving the curtains and causing her bare arms and chest to goose bump under the covers.

Her mind cleared instantly as her heart froze mid-beat at the implication of those swaying windows. She double bolted them at night. New York was no place to sleep with open windows. The shattered glass in the lower panel of the left pane confirmed her fear: someone had broken in. She threw herself forward, rolling off the bed in a tight summersault to land next to her nightstand, using the bed as cover against whoever may be in the room as one hand darted forward to pull open the drawer and retrieve the hand gun within it. Or at least she attempted to. A leather gloved hand shot forward, gripping her wrist and flipping it behind her, another glove flying to cover her mouth before the groan of protest at her twisted arm could take form. A muffled grunt was all that managed to make it out, answered almost instantaneously by a detached hurm from the person restraining her.

"Quiet. Boy still sleeping."

Her free hand balled into a fist at the casual mention of her son in the bedroom down the hall, but she managed to swallow her pride enough to produce an affirmative grunt from behind his dirty glove. The hand over her mouth fell away, and she greedily gasped air in through her mouth, attempting to breath in as little of new, terrible stench the man brought into her room through her nose as possible. Her stomach churned slightly as she was only partly successful in ignoring the rotting stink and cheap cologne.

"What the fuck do you want?" She ground out between clenched teeth, the pain in her arm spiking once more as he forced it into an even sharper angle for a moment. It was clear who would be asking the questions tonight.

"Nicole Parker, AKA Nicole Paige, AKA the Twilight Lady. Born 1945. Vice Queen, arrested in summer 1968 for aggravated pimping, living off immoral earnings. Sentenced 5 years. Released 1971 for good behavior. Possibly used body to secure release. Unsure. Probably true."

"Thanks for the history lessen. Got a point in there somewhere, Rorschach?" She bit her lip as the grip on her wrist tightened; the delicate carpel's threatening to snap under his vice-like grip. "Ungh…"

"Being delicate. Do not wish complication of upset child. Further interruption may cause sleeping boy to slip mind." The grip relaxed back to its previous state and she glowered in silence. He didn't want to make her scream, she could work with that. Assuming, of course, that didn't simply mean he would slice her throat quietly instead of bludgeoning her to death like his usual victims.

"Found check stub in Daniel's apartment. Made out to you. Suspicious. Mask paying criminal. Perverse. Blackmail? Came to investigate." Rorschach growled out, and she was mildly surprised he answered her question so thoroughly. There was a time he'd simply demand what the relationship between them was, no explanation of what he had found as a preface. The fractured sentence structure worried her somewhat, however. When the hell had he started talking like that? It was not a sign of a stable mind.

She mulled his statement over for a bit, and then blinked into the shadows of her room as the implications of him asking about her and the Owl dawned on her. He didn't know how Owl and she were connected. For all his good qualities, Nite Owl couldn't keep his mouth shut to his friends to save his life. Which would mean…

"Christ, the Owl wasn't lying." She whispered. A confused grunt originated from behind her shoulder. This was going to take a while.

"Let me go. I'm not going anywhere; I'll tell you what I know." Silence met her request and she rolled her eyes. "At least let me put a robe on."

She shivered to accent the point, something half acted and half real as the October breeze continued to swirl around her room. Clad only in her black panties, she felt both literally and figuratively naked against the dangerous man behind her. A second more of silence and her wrist was released. She stumbled away from him as rapidly as possible, rubbing the sore joint as she chanced her first glance at the masked figure in nearly twenty years. She felt an odd moment of jealousy as she admitted he hadn't changed much. She'd gotten older since they'd met, or since they'd battled was probably the more appropriate term. Her hair lacked its youthful shine, her skin no longer as bright and clear as it was then. She didn't like to think about her figure. But he looked the same. A little tenser, even more wild and feral looking than he had in their youth, if that were possible. Maybe his cloths were a little more dirty than during the years he'd run with Nite Owl. Otherwise he may as well have stepped out of the photograph the newspapers had run front page the day he and Nite Owl arrested her. What had she expected though? It wasn't as if a mask could lose its youthful glow.

She moved slowly, making sure the man could see her hands at all times, and walked to the side of the bed to pick up her bathrobe from its perch on the bedpost. Once she would have delighted in flaunting her nudity to the mask. Back in the old days she always had the feeling he was distinctly uncomfortable with any state of undress. She didn't know why she got the feeling; it certainly wasn't in his expression after all. But certain body language: a shifting away from her or one of her girls, the briefest hesitation to approach any feminine garment strewn across the room, flinching when even Nite Owl laid a hand on him, it had always signaled to her the seemingly invisible Watchman had some revulsion to contact and bare flesh, or any items related to it. When he worked with Nite Owl she had taken a real pleasure in making him as visibly uncomfortable as possible in her presence. But that had been then. Tonight he showed no hesitation in grabbing her near naked form, and now she knew what Owl had said was true: Rorschach really hadn't been in contact with anyone in nearly a decade. In the days he worked with Nite Owl, Rorschach had been dangerous. Now he was downright terrifying. Eight years of social isolation for an already unstable mind. If she wasn't careful, she may very well end up in a pool of her own blood before dawn broke.

She slipped the robe over her shoulders, her hands disappearing and reappearing rapidly to assure the man she hadn't retrieved some hidden weapon from the sleeve of the garment. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, as far from her gun concealing nightstand as possible, she folded her hands neatly into her lap. It gnawed at her, acting like some trained pup in the face of an old enemy, but what could she do? Rorschach was lethal, had been since he was only a teen. She'd been a masked villain in years gone by, but not that kind. She didn't practice martial arts or back flip through buildings. She inherited an old friends business, pedaled human flesh to the highest bidder, pimping out over 400 women and men to some of the richest and most powerful people in New York during her peak at the tender age of 23. She worked out, obviously, but her brains had always served her far better than her brawn. If Rorschach decided he wanted her dead, there was very little she would be able to do in the way of stopping him.

He hurmed at her in the old, annoying way, leaning against the bedroom door a few feet away as he observed her, his gloved hands now buried deep in the pockets of his filthy trench coat. The black liquid of his mask flowed steadily as he watched her, one pattern twisting into another before she even had time to decide what it looked like.

"Daniel didn't lie. Explain."

"He said he hadn't seen you since the Keene Act passed. I thought he was lying. He knew I didn't like you. You know how nice he is; I figured he thought telling me you weren't around would make me feel more comfortable when I visited."

His head tilted slightly in a way she always assumed meant his eyes had narrowed. He didn't believe her. Not good.

"Why would mask associate with filth."

"I am not…" she bit her tongue, choking back her protest at his easy dismissal of her humanity. Now was not the time for philosophical discussion.

"Filth," she spat after a moment, "was the only one around to associate with him, apparently. All you other masks just had better things to do, I guess. And people who dress up in custom tend not to relate to normal people too well for some reason." She glanced away from the vigilante, studying the full length mirror along her closet door as she continued. "I checked up on him a little after they passed the Act. You know, one outlaw catching up with another. Good thing I did since no one else seemed to think of it. We got to talking and, well," she shrugged, "we're both night owls put to roost, he and I. We understand each other a bit, decided to keep in touch."

She looked back at Rorschach and had to fight the urge to scramble over the bed and away from the masked man. His shoulders had tensed exponentially since she started talking. She had the strange feeling his hidden hands were curled into fists in his pocket.

"Daniel doesn't hire whores." It came out in the usual monotone, but Nicole detected the accusation behind it. The ridiculousness of the conclusion he had just drawn about her and the check nearly made her laugh. Were it any Watchman but the psychotic before her, she would have. Nite Owl hiring prostitutes. Her being hired as a prostitute. By Nite Owl. Oh, _come on_. The man couldn't ask women out to coffee.

"No," she stated as calmly as she could, praying the man's incompetence with social interaction would prevent him from detecting the note of amusement in her voice, "the Owl doesn't hire whores. The check is for Nathan's, my son's, birthday. He made it out to me since Nathan doesn't have a bank account." She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should finish the rest of the explanation. No grunt or words followed the end of her sentence, making her sure he had noticed her pause. If he decided she was holding back something important, things could get ugly again very quickly.

"Nite Owl is Nathan's godfather."

He moved across the several feet between them faster than she could react, a gloved hand wrapping firmly around her throat to cut off any noise of surprise. She struggled to breathe as he held her, her voice utterly cut off by his firm grip. Even as the stench and pain forced her eyes to water, her hands remained planted firmly at her sides. She offered no struggle. The woman had played this game before with him, years ago when Nite Owl had hover worriedly in the corner behind them and a flurry of young escorts in her employment gasped around them at the man's aggression. There had been witnesses and the king Boy Scout himself crooning words of caution to restrain Rorschach back then. Tonight it was only them. She wouldn't be making any movements he could interpret as an attack unless there was absolutely no other choice available.

"What." He growled. Like everything else during his little interrogation of his, it wasn't a question: it was a demand.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, attempting to rasp out a reply past the vice on her throat. He grunted a moment later, loosening his hold enough to allow her to whisper out a response.

"He's…he's the only man I know. Only one I trust at least. I don't…I don't know anyone who isn't a criminal or a mask." It was the truth. When her son had been born she'd put a lot of thought into whom she could ask to be his guardian upon her, considering her background, quite likely death. An escort once in her service, her right hand girl for her short reign as a Vice Queen, had been chosen as the godmother more for old time's sake than any trust in the woman's ability to take care of the child. As for the godfather…Nite Owl had really been the only choice. Beyond the fact that he was rich, stable, and painfully polite, what she had told Rorschach was true. Her only friends were crime lords or masked heroes, and mobsters didn't tend to have the best parenting techniques. It had taken her a week to talk him into it, but the fact was he had been the only name on her list.

He released her throat with a slight shove, sending her falling back to rest half reclined on one elbow on the bed. She'd have a ring of bruises around her neck to match her wrist come morning. It was lucky one of the first talents she'd picked up in her previous career had been applying make up well enough to hide any amount of damage.

"Daniel guardian of whore's son. Ridiculous. And true. Always too soft. Let scum fog his mind. Especially you."

She scowled at him from her reclined position, bruised hand rubbing battered throat. Empowered now that she knew he believed her and the chance of her death upsetting Nite Owl now granting her some measure of protection from the killer, she managed to rasp a reply.

"It's not my fault your partner's human."

"Not partner."

He paused from his pacing, turning to regard her. The pattern of his mask froze in one pattern for a moment and she feared she had crossed the line. Rorschach and Owl had been close once, nearly a decade ago. Just because he had dropped by the Owl's nest recently didn't necessarily mean the Owl had any sway over him these days. She bit her lip softly. She was unable to suppress the sigh of relief once he turned from her and resumed his pacing, the mask once more flowing from shape to shape as he moved.

"Not partner." He repeated, and the red head had the feeling this wasn't the first time tonight he had been talking to himself. Nearly an entire decade spent without even his lone, saint-like friend to tolerate him. She imagined he held conversation with himself quite often these days.

"Hurm." He uttered at length, turning from her to head towards her broken window. "More nothing. Starting to get depressed. Will speak with Daniel regarding filth association." He shoved one of the panes to the side, perching on the edge of the window frame for a second. He glanced back at her, "Gun in drawer unregistered. Checked. Very bad." He leapt then, disappearing back into the night the same way he had come.

"Yeah," she muttered bitterly, "I steal cable too, what of it." She rubbed her aching throat for a minute more before shaking her head and standing. Fucking masks. Thought they had the right to everything. She grabbed the phone off its hook on the nightstand, looming angrily over the bed as she dialed the number with well manicured nails. The phone rang four times before a sleep fogged voice on the other end picked up.

"He..hullo?"

"Keep your fucking psycho on his leash. If he comes near me or my kid again, I'm not going to be held responsible for what happens to him."

She slammed the phone down with a satisfying bang before the befuddled Nite Owl had a chance to reply. She rubbed her eyes wearily as she glanced around the room, gaze settling on the pieces of broken glass scattered along the floor by the window. The clock at her side proudly showed the time to be four am. The sun would be up in an hour or so, no point in trying to go back to sleep now.

She walked over to the window, stepping carefully around the broken glass, and pulled the two panes back together, closing the window the best she could. Starring at the hole in one pane for a second she turned, grabbing a throw pillow off the ground and shoving it into the hole. She ignored the sounds of tearing fabric as the broken glass dug through the outer cover, the fluff puffing out enough to effectively block the chilling breeze. She lingered by the window, scanning the busy street several stories below as if she could spot the crazed vigilante. It was impossible, of course. Even when she'd had a dozen guards around her quarters that one could slip in and out like a ghost. Or a demon.

She reached to the self next to the window, pulling out her hidden box of cigarettes and match pad lurking there. Still staring at the crowded streets below her, she lit up one of the sticks and took a long drag, grimacing slightly as the smoke irritated her tender vocal chords. The phone starting ringing angrily behind her. The Owl calling her back no doubt. She ignored it. Nathan's angry shout at the disruption to his sleep followed and she could only roll her eyes at the child's antics. He could stand to wake up a few hours early to work on his project for school. She took another pull on her cigarette, sighing at the pre-dawn sky.

"Hell of a way to start the week."

_AN: Ever had a story that no matter how many times you said 'No' it kept insisting you meant a 'No' spelled 'y-e-s'? That would be this story. The shocking lack of female characters, especially well written female characters, in Watchmen drove me to wondering about this one woman. She's probably a lot saner than she should be, but it's been twenty years since her crime days, and it's better to stretch the limits of one line in the comic than to run off and create a whole new OC, in my opinion. So here I am. I have no planned couples in it outside of what exists in cannon. _

_I'm very uncertain on my Rorschach, please feel free to leave constructive criticism on him (or on anything else for that matter) along with any other thoughts. As a note, this is mostly comic book inspired, but I will be using some of the alterations they made in the movie here and there, Rorschach's movie age being one of them (because thinking of a teenage crime fighter Rorschach is adorable). Thank you for reading._


	2. Those Were the Days

It was a striking image. Nicole's favorite one of the Owl and her, even if the small psycho cluttered it up. Even though they had posed for several pictures together since, nothing ever quite topped that one candid photograph. A beautiful summer evening, the one of her arrest in fact, where Nite Owl and Rorschach marched her out towards a police car in handcuffs while the small gathered crowd cheered. She was in her tight leather outfit, garters, knee high boots, and all. She was even still wearing that painfully ridiculous mask which had seemed like such a good choice in the late sixties. God, she missed the sixties. Hands cuffed behind her back, the Nite Owl had one concealed hand on chain between her wrists, the other wrapped firmly around her bare skin, just where shoulder met neck. No one in the newspapers ever commented on the fact he could have just as easily placed that appendage on her black leather covered upper arm, as was standard police procedure. She was grinning in the picture. Not at the awaiting cops, not at the journalists shouting questions and snapping pictures, but at him. A curved, coy smile of one who knows the real game had only started, half lidded eyes glowing up at him from behind dark lashes. And he was smiling back at her, a small, barely perceivable rising of the corners of his lips. His eyes looking only at her.

They'd been so young, then.

During her first month in jail she had written the editor in chief of the local newspaper and requested a full size version of the picture. Like most men, he gave the Twilight Lady what she wanted as quickly as possible. The matron of the women's prison had even been kind enough, after a few small 'gifts', to let her hang it on her jail cell wall. When she was finally released, the three years feeling like infinity to the insatiable woman, the picture had come with her. Other than her costume, it was the only item she took with her from jail into the real world. It had been framed and displayed proudly on the living room wall of her old apartment, right up until Nathan had been born and she'd moved to a classier part of town.

She couldn't explain it to anyone, not even the Owl seemed to really understand, how Nathan's birth had been the final nail in the coffin of the Twilight Lady. It wasn't as if she dressed up or ran the criminal rings like she used to once she was let out of jail. She had enough money, carefully hidden for her through a variety of old friends and contacts, to not need crime anymore. And once she had the Owl to toy with, the excitement of the profession was no longer critical either. But somewhere in the back of her mind she'd always believed she could go back to it, if she ever needed to. At the drop of a hat she could take the old mask, dust it off, and be back on the streets. Then Nathan had been born and the years that had passed since she'd worn the mask crashed down on her. She hadn't been the Twilight Lady in over half a decade when Nathan had come around. It had been time to stop pretending.

And so she had taken down the photograph, removed it from the frame and pasted it into a scrap book with all the other images and clippings from those times. She moved from the heart of the city, the dark, filthy streets where she had thrived, and rented a nice townhouse up town. Perfect family neighborhood, it made the Nite Owl's nest look like a worn-down shack in comparison, really. She tucked the costume away into an old chest, got a legitimate job swimming with the socially accepted sharks of society in business. In her crimes days she'd really been nothing more than a glamorized accountant and PR representative anyway, transitioning to the legal side of the coin had been much easier than she anticipated. The Owl pulling enough strings to get her a job at Veidt industries certainly hadn't hurt, either.

She hardly spared a thought for the old, untitled scrap book anymore these days. Too much living as Nicole the mother and business woman to worry about the Twilight Lady and her adventures. The encounter with Rorschach that morning had brought it forcefully to the forefront of her mind, however. The past had felt real enough to touch last night, with the masked man's hand wrapped around her throat like she was in her twenties again and sitting in high end brothel rather then her civilian bedroom. It had been a long time since she'd really remembered, so many details she had thought lost resurfacing as the past and present reunited for that short half hour. As much as she hated the man, she could almost thank Rorschach for that.

She traced a long finger along the curve of the Nite Owl's mask, the photograph soft and plain and nothing like how the real item had felt. Smoke curled from the lit cigarette in her hand as she gazed at the image, the past playing before her minds eye as the young Nite Owl dragged the masked women towards the police, a short, masked teen hovering uneasily in the background, avoiding the publicity around them. The scrap book nearly slipped off her lap as she started at the sharp ringing of the phone. She closed the book and placed it almost reverently on the coffee table beside her, walking to the kitchen to answer the interruption. She leaned against the door frame as the familiar hesitant voice came over the line.

"H-Hey." The Owl sounded uncertain, and she couldn't blame him. She hadn't explained her sudden call that morning yet. He didn't know if she was still angry at him.

"Hello yourself."

"You sounded upset this morning."

"Hmm, I wonder why."

"Look, I'm sorry he showed up. I didn't think he'd be taking things this far, or I would have warned you about him."

"What the fuck is going on out there that he's sniffing around my house?"

There was an exhalation of breath on the other end. She could almost see him cleaning his glasses with his shirt as he rolled the answer to her question around his mind.

"Look this really isn't something we should talk about over the phone. Would you, uh, that is…" Even when the world was burning, Dan still couldn't manage to take the lead in a social situation. She'd be annoyed if she wasn't so used to it.

"Asking me on a date, big boy?"

"No! I mean," he coughed on the other end, clearing his throat, "I mean just some old friends getting dinner, right? I know a place downtown I could get a table at tonight, if you're free, that is. Might be short notice for a babysitter."

"Eh, Nate can handle himself fine."

"Nicole," that note of shocked moral outrage he had worn like a badge during his crime fighting days was creeping through, "he's seven. This is New York. You can't be serious."

"I was taking care of myself in much worse parts of town when I was a hell of a lot younger than he is." She drawled, grinning despite herself when she heard his disapproving sigh on the other end. "He's sleeping over at a friends house tonight, don't worry."

"You could have just said that."

"And not hear you worry? Where's the fun in that." He let out a small laugh on the other end, and her gaze drifted to the living room, the closed album still sitting on the table where she'd left it.

If Nite Owl had something important to discuss with her, something that couldn't be put off, he'd break into her apartment in the dead of night. Like Rorschach, but without the collateral damage. The Owl always had enough gadgets and gizmos that no lock or security system could prevent him from opening it without him having to resort to brute strength. Full costume, gloved hands gripping her upper arms as he made sure she was listening, tight enough to feel it but not enough to bruise, the masked face leaning forward, running the tip of his nose along the side of her neck, pushing her back against the wall, pinning her, her fingers balling into tight fists in his cape for reasons completely unrelated to whatever terrible news he had to report…

"So, uh, I'll meet you there around 8? I'll book the table."

Daniel Dreiberg, on the other hand, asked her to a nice, friendly, definitely not a date, dinner. He'd probably even pay for it. She sighed into the phone, shifting her position so the scrap book was no longer in her field of vision.

"I miss you, Squawks." She whispered, smiling sadly at how the old nickname felt on her tongue.

"Oh?" he sounded surprised, "We could get together more often, if you want. I mean we see each other a couple times a month, but if you feel that way…"

"Not what I meant." She sighed, cutting him off and hanging up the phone with a gentle click before he had the chance to respond.

She snubbed the cigarette out in the kitchen table ashtray and checked the clock wearily. It was only 5:30, over two hours before they were supposed to meet up. She didn't have that kind of patience. Dan was obviously home, and the man didn't have any other social obligations, save his weekly meeting with the first Nite Owl. Hadn't in years. Worst care scenario was she interrupted him writing some article or other about his stupid birds. She wouldn't be crying any tears over that.

She had questions. Rorschach hadn't spoken to Dan in nearly a decade it seemed. For that antisocial maniac to not only be speaking with Dan, but actively looking into any threats against him, something big must have happened. Something huge. There had been nothing special in the newspapers beyond the normal fear of Armageddon for the past few weeks, so it had to be something to do more with masks and villains than normal society. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in a restaurant. In fact, she was fairly positive it would be less of a conversation and more of a screaming match on her end. Anything that involved something Rorschach was interested in usually did. Or had, back when Dan was still Nite Owl and had a psychotic partner for her to scream at him about. She couldn't help but smile slightly as she slipped on her coat, heading out to call on the old man a few hours before he expected it.

Christ, but those had been the days.


	3. How We've Changed

Dan sighed as he set the sugar bowl and creamer on the kitchen table, casting another glance at the ticking clock next to the refrigerator. It had been nearly an hour since Nicole had hung up on him. Assuming traffic was only its normal level of abysmal, she should be arriving within the next few minutes. He may still not understand half of the things she meant whenever they talked, but after a decade and a half of on and off…friendship? Less? More? Of whatever they were, he knew she wouldn't be waiting three hours to find out why Rorschach had seen fit to break into her house. Dan could only hope nothing too terrible happened between the two of them. Nicole's loathing of Rorschach was near legendary, almost matching the vigilante's reputation of detesting whores and pimps, retired or no. Putting the two of them in a room together was like stacking up oily rags in the sun: it was only a matter of time before it all went up in flames.

A rhythmic series of knocks echoed sharply through the house, signaling the woman's arrival. She had already let her self in, it was hard to lock a busted wooden frame after all, and was currently in the process of hanging her jacket on his coat rack, the raising of her arms briefly exposing the tattoo curving along her lower back before it slipped once more from view. He clears his throat in slight discomfort as she unties and removes her shoes, the tattoo slipping back into view as she bends over, the twisting pattern moving down, spiraling into her jeans. He rapidly redirects his gaze to her face as she turns to him, handing over the peace offering of a coffee filled mug the moment she is within reach.

"You knew I was coming. I'm really that predictable, huh?" She scoffs, taking the mug with a grin despite the annoyance in her voice.

"Only when it comes to yelling at me." He assures her ruefully and gives a mental sigh of relief when she laughs. He'd been worried she would be too angry to have a rational conversation with.

"So, let's get the hard part over with, shall we?" She asks, taking an experimental sip of coffee, smiling contentedly at the taste.

"May as well." He agrees, and gestures for her to lead the way into the kitchen. The only room on the ground floor without any windows, it's the best location, outside of the basement, for discussing items normal civilians had no business overhearing.

"Rorschach," she opens, half sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, the arm not holding her mug folded across her chest, "broke into my house this morning and conducted an interrogation over your birthday present to Nathan. Care to explain?"

"How bad?"

Nicole takes off her scarf and licks her finger, wiping away the layers of make-up from around her neck and Daniel swears softly. She rolls her eyes and gives him an all too familiar look that means he's overreacting.

"Trust me, this is nothing," she assures him, "I just want to know why the hell it happened."

"He thinks there's someone out there killing masked heroes." He confesses, the words still sounding ridiculous to his own ears.

"Uh-huh."

"The Comedian was killed the other night."

"Fuck."

"Yeah." He rolls the bloody pin between his fingers in his pants pocket. She'd never known the man personally; the item would be meaningless to the red head.

"How'd they manage that? The guy was built like a Mac truck."

"Threw him out a window."

"Fuck." She states again. "Shit. Jesus."

He winces a little at the foul language, but if she notices she doesn't show it.

"So he thinks whoever did it will come after the rest of you?"

"That's his theory."

They both sip their coffee in contemplative silence for a few minutes. She stares off into space, digesting his news, and he can only stare at the stripe of bruise now visible on her neck. He was no stranger to Rorschach's questioning techniques and couldn't stop the small bubbling of annoyance caused by his former partner's actions. He wasn't mad at the smaller man. If he wasted his energy getting angry over each and every person Rorschach harmed on his quest for information he'd have no energy left. He was irritated the other mask hadn't simply asked him about the check, however. A few words and he could have prevented the whole issue. It was a small knife to the gut to consider how little the man must trust him if he wouldn't even attempt to find out his side of a story. It meant that even if Dan had explained Rorschach probably wouldn't have believed him. Had so much happened since they'd been partners that his friend had that little faith in him?

"He thought _I_ might have something to do with the killings?" She asks at length, looking at him skeptically.

"He suggested Hollis might be behind it, too." He countered and smiled slightly at her scoff. "I don't think Rorschach is paranoid, but he's not ruling out any options right now."

"Dan." Nicole was shaking her head and Dan closed his eyes, knowing another anti-Rorschach speech was on the way. "Have you heard the way he's talking? The man's lost whatever tentative grip on sanity he had left."

"He's not that bad, really." Dan pushed off from his reclining position against the counter, moving to the sink to rinse out his now empty mug.

"He's fucking crazy."

"No," he shook his head, glad Nicole's glare was only burning into his back, "he's just very…dedicated to his cause. He came to warn me first, you know. It was kind of…" nice to know he cared? Touching? "…like old times."

"Yeah, well, believe me, Dan, you're certainly no Nite Owl anymore. I should know." He glanced at her in confusion at the level of bitterness in that statement, but she wasn't looking at him anymore. "And he's not your good friend Rorschach. The man's paranoid, and he's going to kill someone if he keeps this up. And I mean someone in addition to the normal thugs he butchers for kicks and giggles. Someone he didn't mean to."

He shut the running water off sharply at her comment, turning around again to face the angry woman with a frustrated stare of his own.

"Rorschach has saved a lot of people in this city. I know you're upset, you have every right to be after what he did today, but I'm not going to let you drag his name through the dirt out of anger."

"He's pretty good at rolling through the filth on his own, I think."

"A hygiene shot? Are you sinking that low already?"

She nothing short of snarled at him, stalking over to slam her own empty mug into the sink before turning away.

"You know us whores Dan; we're always that low."

"I didn't say that."

"But you meant it. Admit it, if I were one of your high and mighty hero friends you'd be taking me seriously. Rorschach is fucked in the head, a lot worse than he used to be. He's going to cross the line this time, Dan, and when he does it's going to be too late for you to help him or fix what he's done."

"He's not that bad…" he insisted, watching as the woman jerked out a chair, slamming herself down into the same seat the subject of their conversation had occupied less than forty eight hours ago. "It's been a while since he's dealt with people on a personal level, you know? He's trying to help. It's just going to take a bit for him to adjust."

"_Fuck, _Dan." She exclaimed, slamming a fist down onto the table hard enough to make the sugar bowl jump. "You'll excuse anything for him. The man's a homicidal maniac, but you talk about him like he's a stray mutt! He's a menace, not a pet."

"That's enough. You wanted to know what he was looking for, I told you. I'm not going to argue about his mental state with you anymore. Rorschach's a friend and I trust him."

Even if the man didn't trust him anymore. It hurt that the relationship between him and Rorschach seemed to have regressed twenty years, back to how it had been when they'd first met and Rorschach had regarded him like some strange and potentially poisonous insect whenever he tried to talk to him. Considering it had been Dan who had quit, effectively casting the other hero out of his life, he was more than a little surprised at how hard this whole thing was hitting him. And given how much time he'd spent worrying over Rorschach's mental state in past few days, it was close to hypocritical how much he was defending his friend to Nicole. It was different somehow, hearing her say it rather than him thinking it. Rorschach was his _friend_, when he questioned the man's sanity it was born out of concern. When the woman did the same it only came out as bitterly insulting. Beyond that, she clearly thought far less of Rorschach's ability to restrain himself. She didn't know him like Daniel did; it wasn't appropriate for her to judge him so harshly.

"Ah, yes." She drawled mockingly, "your _friend._ And what has that friend done for you lately, huh? Gone through your things, attacked your…" she paused, apparently as confused as he was when it came to quantifying their relationship, "…associates based on scraps of paper and paranoid delusions? I'm guessing he's the reason your door's busted in too. Hell, Dan, he just might succeed in putting criminals out of business. With heroes like him, who needs 'em?"

"I'm serious, Nic. I'm done talking about this."

"Trust me, so am I." Nicole shoved herself out of her seat, stalking down the hallway. "Forget diner, I don't think I'm going to have an appetite."

"Nicole, wait." He trailed after her helplessly, watching from the kitchen door frame as she angrily reached for her coat, the tattoo appearing and vanishing once more.

"No, Dan. I really don't know what I was expecting. For you to have a rational attitude about that psycho? For you to maybe take my side over his, for once, after I've been here all these years and he's been…what? Sending teenagers to the hospital for taking drugs? Sorry that's too fucking much to ask."

"It's not like that."

"Yeah, Dan, it is." She shrugged her coat on angrily, turning to glare at him over her shoulder. "And you tell that maniac that next I see him I'm calling the cops, and so help me I'll send them knocking on your door too if that's what it takes."

Dan sighed, taking off his glasses to clean with the edge of his shirt as she struggled with her shoes. He didn't believe her for an instant, of course. Nicole had her issues, but she cared too much to turn him in now. Or depended too much on him for some kind of understanding social contact, whichever it may be. Still, even if she wasn't serious she shouldn't be using those kinds of threats at a time like this. If Rorschach ever happened to hear about it, it would lead to a world of problems.

"Nicole, don't talk like that. If Rorschach thought you'd turn any of us in he'd…well…"

"He'd kill me, is what you want to say. He'd come into my house and kill me." He winced at the brutal truth, but could only give a slight shrug in reply as he returned his glasses to his face. "And I bet you'd give him a real stern talking to about it while you made his breakfast for him the next morning, huh? Christ, Dan. Sometimes I don't know which of the two of you is more fucked up, him or you."

"Nicole…" The phone in the kitchen started ringing, causing him to start. "Nic, come on."

"No Dan, just forget it. We're done for tonight. Answer your fucking phone."

He winced as she slammed the door behind her, the damaged wood bouncing against the frame to sway part way open again, letting him watch as she stormed down the front steps and along the sidewalk. And to think the two of them had been getting along so well recently. Not perfectly, not as well as they had in the days he was still a masked avenger, but decently. They'd finally moved past the lingering awkwardness that had tainted all their interactions for the past few years, ever since they decided they didn't work as lovers. She didn't believe in monogamy and he refused to wear his mask in bed, and even though they'd seen each other on and off during the years following it, they'd both known the relationship was over as soon as the Keene act was passed. Nicole had always loved the Nite Owl; she just tolerated Dan for his alter ego's sake. And now she was furious with Dan on account of Nite Owl's old partner. The past and present had been interacting a little too forcibly for Dan's taste in the past few days, starting the moment Rorschach had kicked in his front door. He sighed quietly. She'd be back, eventually. He'd make things up to her then.

The phone rang for the third time, dragging the retired hero out of his wandering thoughts.

"Hello" he half sighed, failing miserably at sounding pleasant and normal.

"Hey!" The voice on the other end chirped, "Dan? It's Laurie."

"Laurie!" He straightened immediately, the fight from moments before flying from his mind. "He-hey, what's going on?"

"Listen, I really need to get out of this place. Rorschach stopped by and, well…I was wondering, and I know it's sudden, but I was hoping you'd be free for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, um, tonight?"

"You have plans." She sounded crushed, but was making a strong effort at sounding okay. "I figured you would, don't worry about it…I'll just figure something else out…"

"No!" He blurted out, grateful she couldn't see his spreading blush at his outburst, "I, ah, actually have a table reserved at Rafael's tonight at 8…I, I guess I was just going myself, you're more than welcome to come." There was no way in hell Nicole would be talking to him again before the dinner reservations tonight; there was no reason to put them to waste.

"Really?" The level of relieved excitement in her voice was enough to make the blush race down his neck, causing a warm flush to settle in his chest. "That would be great! Oh, I haven't been anywhere that nice in a while…I need to pick out what to wear! Thank you, Dan, you're the best! See you in a bit."

The phone clicked on the other end and Dan wondered briefly what it was with women hanging up on him today. Though, in all honestly, he should be grateful there were women who were willing to talk with him at all. He'd spoken more with the opposite sex today then he had on any other day in the past...his mind rebelled against actually admitting how long it had been since he'd spoken to two women on a personal level in one day. Suffice to say it had been a long, _long_ time. And, ironically enough, he had Rorschach to thank for it. He wondered for a moment what the other man's reaction would be to Dan informing him he was the best wing man he'd ever had. He laughed out loud at the resulting mental image, though the icy silence from Rorschach that would follow such an announcement would probably be less entertaining. Still, it was an amusing thought.

_AN: Wanted to try a new point of view in this chapter. As always, if something seems off with the character, please let me know! I'm trying to make it so all these events could have occurred while the comic/movie was happening, just off camera, but as stated previously there will be some alterations. I like movie Laurie better than Comic Laurie, and wanted Dan to have made the reservations, so I wrote what the phone conversation may have been like in the movie rather than using the one in the comic. Thanks to everyone who was read this far, and especially to my reviewers.  
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	4. Where We've Been

The retired Nite Owl's cheerful mood hit a bit of a road block when he discovered the second destroyed lock the two days upon his return home. The locksmith had repaired the device less than six hours ago, just finishing his work as Dan caught his taxi to dinner with Laurie. Dan ran a finger along the splintered wood in mild despair. Was it really that hard to come in the back way? Or even kick in a window, at least that he could board up. Propping the broken door closed tightly enough so he felt secure going to sleep in New York City was a chore, one he wasn't particularly looking forward to staying up till three am doing for the second time this week.

He knew he should have been expecting it, really. Should have just left the door unlocked for him. Rorschach had always had a strange sixth sense for picking up when people were talking about him, no matter where in the city he was or what time of day. And Daniel had invoked his name several times in conversations with two separate, and nearly equally disliked by the shorter man, women in the past few hours. He may as well have posted a flashing neon sign asking the vigilante to pay him another visit.

The lack of noise in the kitchen told Dan Rorschach had probably been waiting for a while. He'd had enough time to snoop through Dan's belongings again, eaten something from Dan's cabinets, had a cup of coffee, and done whatever other parts of his visiting ritual there were that Dan hadn't figured out yet. It was with no surprise, therefore, that Dan found the masked man writing dutifully in his leather bound journal, a small pile of dirty dishes sitting on the table before him as he finished whatever thoughts he was putting to paper. Rorschach grunted as a greeting as Dan pulled the same mug he had used earlier from the drying rack by the sink, pouring himself a cup of the coffee Rorschach had made. It was much stronger than what Dan normally made and he ignored his friends disapproving stare, or at least the slight tilting of the masked head he had always taken to be such, as he added enough sugar and cream to the bitter liquid to give cavities to a room full of five years olds. He'd noticed the lipstick stained mug Nicole used earlier was sitting in a different section of the sink than it had occupied when he'd left. Rorschach knew she'd been here today, but Dan would be damned if he was going to make it easier on the smaller man by starting that conversation for him.

Rorschach hadn't finished his journal entry yet, and an odd sense of happiness filled Dan that his former partner still felt comfortable enough to write in it in front of him. It had always seemed somewhat strange that it was Rorschach out of all of them who did sometime as sentimental as record his thoughts in a journal. Though Dan suspected the man did it for far different reasons than sentiment. Keeping a steady record of all activates so no details would be lost when he needed to look back for clues and patterns was his main goal, Dan was sure. But it was nice to think the withdrawn mask did it for some form of personal enjoyment as well. Wishful thinking, probably, but that certainly wouldn't be the worst character flaw Dan had been accused of in the past few days. Equally wishful was the quiet voice in the back of his mind that insisted this was a form of apology for rushing head in against Nicole without even asking for his side of it first, that this small sign of weakness was the only way Rorschach knew how to show he still trusted Dan a little, even if he didn't really know how to trust anyone. It was a nice thought.

The wishful thinking was probably half born from the waves of nostalgia washing over Dan at the scene. He'd been bitter this morning at the past mixing so readily with the present, but here, now, sitting at a table with his old partner after a night of dealing with the two most prominent women from his crime fighting days, he had to admit it was kind of nice. More than kind of, actually. For all the hardship those years had carried, and even with how bitterly they had ended, it brought out feelings of purpose and contentment he'd thought he'd lost the night he hung up his mask. Even the dirty cereal bowl and spoon Rorschach had left sitting on the table made him smile, the lone raisin sticking to the inside of the bowl bringing back memories of those days he hadn't considered in years.

Dealing with Rorschach during the dawn of their partnership had been, if it were possible, even more difficult that dealing with him in the twilight hours of their friendship. That was, Dan knew, more his fault that that of his reclusive partner. Dan had simply expected far more from Rorschach than the man was able to give, even as Rorschach expected nothing from him. Even once Dan had convinced Rorschach that yes, he really could stop by his house whenever he like, and no, Dan wasn't going to wait until he least expected it to stab him in the back or light him on fire, something that had been no small feat in and of itself, there had been the matter of trying to feed and otherwise play host to the intolerably frustrating man. Dan suffered from what Nicole called 'upper class sensibility.' He had been raised to be polite and accommodating to house guests, putting their needs and wants above his own. With people like Nicole and Laurie, women accustomed to getting what they wanted and with little difficultly in expressing what that was, this was an easy task to fulfill. Nicole, in particular, had never had any problem demanding he run to the store and pick up whatever item she needed, no matter what the hour.

Rorschach was a different story entirely. The man would rather sleep in the gutter than make it seem like he even appreciated the offer of Dan's couch. Thus it should have come as little surprise, one night when they'd returned to Dan's house after a particularly grueling patrol of the city, that the only reply Rorschach had to Dan's offer of food was 'Doesn't matter.' Even after several attempts at clarification it had remained the same: Rorschach didn't care what Dan put in front of him. It had been an affront to Dan's hosting skills. The guest always set the terms, always got what they liked. After he had surrendered and finally placed a dish in front of Rorschach, he was then met with the feeling that the other man in no way enjoyed the meal, he was simply eating it because it was sustenance and it was there. This gnawed at Dan more than most crimes the two of them investigated for the next several weeks. Rorschach continued to pop into Dan's home unannounced, helping himself to whatever it was in the cabinets, and Dan continued to get the feeling none of his food was particularly to the vigilante's taste. Rorschach, naturally, refused to dignify Dan's accusations of such, or his pleads for the smaller mans' preferences, with any answer other than a dismissing grunt.

This drove the well bred man insane. It finally forced him to begin an experiment which, if anyone else had known about it, would certainly have amused his other friends to the point of pity for him. He had started buying random products and brands at the grocery store. Items ranging from those he simply didn't normally stock to ones he'd never heard of and would certainly never digest himself starting littering his cabinets. If Rorschach wouldn't tell him verbally what he wanted, the masked man would just have to let him know by forced selection. It took weeks to find the things he was sure the man actually liked rather than those he was just picking out because they were there. The slow process of continually purchasing whatever product Rorschach had opened, adding and removing new choices had continued until Dan had at least three food items he knew his partner genuinely preferred: Raisin Bran, Boston Baked Beans, and Folgers Dark Roast coffee. It goes without saying that Dan's cabinets contained at least two packages of each product for the duration of their partnership, despite the fact the only one of the three he personally enjoyed was the beans. After Rorschach's unannounced visit the other night, he had picked up the other two items first thing in the morning. It was somewhat endearing to see his friends tastes hadn't changed.

Dan hadn't realized how long he'd been zoned out, day dreaming about the past, until the sharp closing of Rorschach's journal snapped him back into the present. He looked up somewhat sheepishly to meet the general area the masked mans' eyes must be, wondering how long the other man had been starring at him before attempting to get his attention. Rorschach slid the leather bound journal into one of his many inner coat pockets without, as far as Dan could tell, looking away from the retired Nite Owl. Dan's shoulders slumped slightly as he realized Rorschach had caught onto his game. The withdrawn man wouldn't be starting any conversations here tonight, either. Dan debated playing the waiting game for a moment, and then dismissed the thought almost as soon as it appeared. Though Dan knew he could beat Rorschach as far as patience was concerned, his old partner's stubbornness beat his own by a mile. Dan couldn't count the number of stupid situations they'd gotten themselves into because Rorschach refused to budge from his plan and Dan was too weak willed to hold out against him for long.

"So, uh," he could swear Rorschach was smirking under the mask when he leaned back as Dan broke the silence, "Nicole dropped by today."

"Hrm. Twilight Lady makes social call on Nite Owl. Not how masks and criminals should behave."

"_Retired_ masks and criminals, Rorschach. Nicole and I have been friends for years now."

"Parker is a whore."

"Former. And a pimp at that, technically."

"Whore, Daniel."

Dan removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose against the headache starting to build. He was getting the feeling of deja vu from this conversation. It was like having the reflection of his argument with Nicole earlier that day. He had a strange premonition that, if he let it continue too long, it would end similarly as well.

"Look, I know you don't like her, but she's important to me, okay? She just wanted to know what was going on, is all. She wasn't even mad at you, really," a little bit of a stretch of the truth, but oh well… "She was only worried you coming after her meant you thought something bad was happening to me."

"She made her choice, Daniel. Criminal. Motives irrelevant."

He fully buried his face in his palm at that, groaning slightly at his friend's dichotic view of the world. He'd always somewhat envied Rorschach his certainly, his pure moral conviction, even as it drove his friend past the limits of what most considered sanity. At moments like these, however, when the world's shades of gray were important in understand people, he found the attitude incredibly frustrating.

"Rorschach, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told her: I'm not here to justify your actions to each other, I just need you accept she's part of my life."

"I was subject of conversation."

_Fuck._

The masked man said the words in his normal monotone growl, but Dan could detect the accusation in them. Why had he brought that up? Just because Rorschach seemed like he knew everything didn't mean the man was omnipotent, even if he suspected it he had no way to know for sure Dan and Nicole's primary subject of conversation during her visit had been him until Dan opened his mouth.

"Well, kind of…" his mind raced, trying to find any kind of damage control, "I mean, ah, you did attack her, of course she was going to bring you up." Bingo, topic change, "And about that. I saw her neck Rorschach, you went a little far for something you could have just found out from me, don't you think?" Even though he'd brought it up mostly as a diversion, Dan couldn't keep the real note of hurt from his voice at the fact his former partner hadn't even bothered to ask.

"She clouds your judgment. Always too soft with her, made excuses. Like now. Truth better from source."

It was a discussion they'd had before. The Twilight Lady, much to Dan's shock and Rorschach's disgust, had reinserted herself into their lives the moment she'd been let out of prison, going so far as to request Nite Owl himself pick her up on her release date. His partner had argued against it with something as near to passion as Dan had seen in the man outside of crime fighting, but in the end he'd gone, the action cementing the turbulent relationship with Nicole that still remained today. He'd done his best during his hero days to keep the two of them from bumping into or even thinking about each other, but there was only so much he could do. Conversations like the one he'd had with Nicole this morning, or the one he and Rorschach were having right now, still happened more frequently then he would have liked up until the Keene act passed and Rorschach's departure from his life made the point moot. He'd always suspected Rorschach saw his involvement with the former Vice Queen as his first step away from heroics and towards the soft lifestyle he now led. It wasn't surprising that even now Nicole remained a sore spot between them.

"Rorschach," he started again, "She isn't a threat. She has her kid to think of, she won't be getting in the way of whatever you're trying to do, so just leave her out of it, okay?"

"Hurm." The masked man stood now that he'd had his say and Daniel sighed.

"So, stopped by just to let me know you don't trust my judgment where she's concerned?"

Rorschach turned to look at him silently, his mask shifting in a steady stream as they gazed at each other. Most people would think he was mad, but Dan was sure he'd hit the nail on the head with his observation. It was a bit of a relief to realize Rorschach still at least somewhat trusted him, the major exception seeming to be when it came to dealing with Nicole. The masked man had never had much faith in Dan on that point to begin with however, so Dan could hardly hold that against him. Despite himself he smiled slightly, nodding a little at his old partner.

"Thanks, man. I was a little worried there."

"Thanks for cereal and coffee," was the only reply, "Be going now." The short figure turned from him again, stalking down the hall way.

"Be careful out there." Dan called out, thinking he heard an answering grunt before the man slipped back out into the streets, the door creaking shut behind him.

Dan slumped in his seat, the tiredness from dealing with the past, present, and all the left over issues from the both of them settling upon him now that he was once more alone. How could his life go from dull monotony, the only excitement being the occasional babysitting job from Nicole, one minute to the tension filled world he now found himself in, his life once more populated by masked heroes and deranged villains without so much as a by-your-leave. At least Rorschach didn't seem too angry with him, he consoled himself. He was probably still a little antsy about the fact he knew he'd been a conversation topic between his old partner and, as he so delicately put, a filthy whore. It was nothing he wouldn't get over, however.

But Dan still needed to make this up to Nicole. Unlike Rorschach, a simple attempt to show understanding wouldn't be enough to pacify the stubborn woman. Dan cleared the kitchen table, shutting the kitchen light off behind him as he decided to leave the dishes for the morning. As he gathered his tools to begin the process of making the front door stay shut for the night, he started planning what kind of gesture would best make peace between him the red head. Something involving making Nathan happy usually did the trick.

"Well," he sighed, hefting a screw driver in one hand, "It could always be worse."


	5. What Was Will Be

The stench of her third cigarette in the past half hour couldn't quite drown out the near overpowering scent of the roses on her desk. Two dozen of them, in fact. Any rational person would admit that was over kill. The Owl, or _Dan_ these days as she kept reminding herself, apparently hadn't the faintest clue as to what an appropriate apologetic gesture was, however. She really wasn't surprised. He was a complete incompetent when it came to dealing with the opposite sex these days, why would this action be any different? The color choice of the flowers was more annoying than anything else about the gift, as well: a dozen white and a dozen yellow. Friendship and regret. How painfully pathetic. It was enough to drive her to take a long pull from the flask in her desk drawer, but she resisted. There was an advertising campaign meeting in another hour concerning the new 'Millennium' fragrance Veidt had decided to put into production, and she had to present her ideas for the project. Booze on the breath never tended to help her argument, even if the particularly low cut top she had chosen this morning would assure the support of a few of the more elderly board members. She settled for chain smoking until the meeting instead. At least it somewhat drowned out the depressing floral fragrance.

She twirled the small note that had come with the roses between her fingers, no longer needing to read the tight, well formed script on the paper to know what it said. He wanted to invite Nathan and her over tonight for a nice home-cooked meal, maybe a rented movie. Something nice, simple, and distinctly domestic. The Night Owl asking her over for something quaint. It was some version of a living nightmare. He mentioned having a surprise for Nathan also, which meant she could hardly refuse his offer now. For all her annoyance at the aging retired hero, it wasn't in her to deny her only child whatever joy she could bring to him. The world was ugly enough without her adding to it for him. She crushed the note on her palm, setting the crumpled paper into the ash tray on her desk, and then set her nearly finished cigarette on top of it. She watched in detached interest as the lit stick slowly heated the thin paper, the center of the note starting to darken, then smoke slightly, then finally curl in on itself as the small flame consumed it.

It was a little shocking, how much Dan had been annoying her these past few days. She'd known him for years, hell, she'd been essentially his only friend since the Keene Act passed eight years ago outside the occasional visit from the retired second Silk Specter and his weekly beer sessions with the first Nite Owl. She knew Dan. She had thought she'd accepted the fact he was only a shallow reflection of a man without his mask years ago. Only last week she would have found the roses somewhat endearing. Sad, still, but only slightly pathetic and a bit adorable, in the same way she would regard a particularly ugly kitten. She hadn't been thinking of the past a week ago, however. Last week she didn't have a ring of bruises around her throat and wrist from an old enemy, hadn't moved the photograph of her arrest out of the scrap book and back into a frame, placing it next to her bed on the night stand. A week ago the Nite Owl wasn't there in the forefront of her mind, nearly drowning poor Dan in the long shadow the costume cast.

She grabbed another cigarette, lighting it with the nearly dead flame of the smoldering note with a sigh of resignation. No matter how depressing the affair was, they would be going tonight. Lifting the phone, she cradled the headpiece against her shoulder and dialed the Owl's nest to confirm. Dan was a proper gentleman after all; he would be expecting an official RSVP.

* * *

She'd stopped at a corner store on the way to the nest to pick up another pack of cigarettes after her long afternoon of smoking, and she regretted the decision as soon as she lit up the first smoke. She usually kept her smoking down to half a pack a day, and while a steady afternoon of chain smoking had kept her agitation and annoyance at a nearly ignorable base line, she had to admit it was starting to play hell with her already abused throat. She coughed painfully into her leather gloved hand as Nathan and she reached the Owl's door, pausing to groan slightly at her raw throat as Nate cheerfully rang Dan's doorbell, the child utterly undeterred by his mothers discomfort at the prospect of a present from his somewhat boring, but inventive, 'uncle.' So it was through watery eyes that she saw Dan for the first time since their fight two days ago, the potential awkwardness of their greeting swept aside as he ushered them in, running off like a worried nanny to get her a glass of water for her cough before she had a chance to say a word.

"Thanks," she managed to croak, downing the water in a few swift gulps in an attempt to sooth her aching throat.

"Not a problem. You okay there?"

The level of concern in his voice was touching, the words close enough to what Nite Owl himself would have once said after a rescue that she wasn't yet annoyed with the man. She nodded that she was fine, clearing her throat experimentally for a moment before attempting to form any kind of coherent sentences. Nathan had no patience for putting off his surprise for his mother's sake, however, and she rolled her eyes slightly as the four foot boy tugged urgently at the edge of Dan's suit jacket. A suit, complete with tie, on a Tuesday night. Did the man even know how to relax?

"Oh, uh, hey there, champ. How's it going?"

"Mom said you had a surprise for me!"

"Nate," she scolded, the amusement in her voice probably destroying any chastising affect she may have been aiming for, "That's not how we greet people who are going to give us things. We make them feel loved and important so they will give us even more."

The 'yes ma'am' her son cheerfully responded with was somehow almost drowned out by the disapproving look the Owl shot her over the brink of his glasses. Moral indignation. If she pretended his glasses were goggles she could almost love him again.

"Nic, you aren't really teaching him that kind of thing for a moral compass, are you? Only be nice to people so they can give you something in return?"

"And why not?" She breezed past him, refilling her glass with a beer from his refrigerator. She had a feeling he only had them stocked for her. "Life's tough, I'm not going to delude him. I don't suffer from a hero complex, Dan. I'm realistic."

He shook his head behind her, taking off his glasses in a signature move of distress and discomfort. She mentally braced herself for yet another philosophical argument regarding Nate's education. For some reason Dan thought being the boys godfather gave him some kind of right to be involved in his upbringing. She was saved the trouble by Nate's impatient sigh from the kitchen doorway.

"But regardless," she stated, "I believe you did promise something in the way of a surprise. You know we won't have a moment's peace until you hand it over. Nate doesn't like things being held over his head."

"Just like his mother." Dan groused and they shared a smile for a moment until Dan looked away, placing his glasses back on and walking to the basement door, gesturing, to Nicole's surprise, for the two of them to head down.

"Dan?" She questioned uncertainly even as Nate bounded forward, slipping down the previously forbidden basement stairs without a backwards glance.

"It's fine." He says with an odd smile that's so familiar it makes her heart jump to her throat, motioning for her to go down. "I, uh, well, I figure it's time I stop pretending nothing's down there, I guess."

"Rorschach coming back has really done a number on us, hasn't it?" She asks as she passes by him, walking stiffly down the familiar steps, the excited shouts of Nathan below the only thing reminding her it was still 1985 and not the early 70s all over again.

"Guess so," he admits, closing the door behind them as he follows me down, "made me think about a lot of things, at least. A lot of things I didn't even remember I'd forgotten."

"Yeah," she whispers as they arrive at the bottom of the stairs, "Me too."

Archie stood covered in a large, dust coated tarp. A giant tucked into bed by the Owl nearly a decade ago, out of sight and out of mind. Until now. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment as she gazed about the heart of the Owl's nest, nostalgia washing over her powerfully enough to make her knees tremble. A thousand different scenes played before her eyes in each and every corner, every shadow forming into a ghost of times past. The display case where she'd carefully placed his mask after they'd thrown it to the floor in the heat of passion, the large glass eyes of Archie that had always seemed like some silent observer to their activities, judging the mask and villain as they breathed as one, the work bench where she'd sat, grabbing the front of his costume, demanding the Owl pay attention to something far more interesting than his little electronic gadgets…the same work bench Nathan now eagerly rifled through, his demanding questions snapping Nicole out of her reflections. She took a deep breath through her nose, wrestling the slight blush on her face back under control as she watched Dan moved forward, leaning over the bench to see what it was Nate had become so fascinated with.

"That," Dan explained, "is a sound magnifier. You put this part in your ear, here let me show you…" he placed the small, curved device around the back of Nate's ear so the small padded bit fit into the inside of his ear canal, "and then you press this little button on this box here, and you can hear things normal human ears can't pick up, just like a, uh, an owl, get it? Here, Nicole," he turned to look at her as she stood still rooted above them at the base of the basement stairs, "whisper something, okay? Soon as I give the sign."

He fiddled with the box for a moment, pausing to give it a few firm whaps with the palm of his hand before throwing her a thumbs up sign. She sighed softly is rueful amusement, shaking her head softly as she whispered:

"Boys will be boys no matter how old."

"Hey!" Nate exclaimed, looking back and forth between them happily, "I really heard that!" The seven year old grinned widely at Dan.

The retied Nite Owl laughed, "Well, consider it your surprise kid, if you like it."

Nate gave a happy whoop, quickly demanding to be given the box, then scampering off around the basement, stopping here and there in random locations; apparently trying to find what small noises might exist outside the normal human hearing range in Dan's exotic work shop.

"Thank you," she drawled as Dan approached her, leaving Nate to his own devices, "I never enjoyed what little privacy I had in my house, anyway."

He shrugged helplessly, rubbing the back of his neck with an apologetic glance, "Oh, you know kids. He'll get bored of it in a week."

"Says you," she scoffed, "You're ruining him, Dan. He's getting little images of heroes dancing in his head, being down here. You're going to turn him into Nite Owl the Third if you keep it up."

"Masked heroes are illegal, Nicole. I don't think you have too much to worry about."

"Ah, yes, because no son of mine would ever _dream_ of breaking the law."

"I, uh, well…huh."

"Mom!" Nathan shrieked from his spot near the subway tunnel entrance, "I can hear rats down here! This is _so awesome._" He scampered closer to the stone archway, pausing again to listen to the small rodents.

The two adults laugh softly, the child's enthusiasm sapping the weight behind any argument they may have been working on starting. She tucks a stray strand of red hair behind her ear and offers Dan a smile, a friendly, accepting one that looks nothing like the old grin she wears in the photograph of them on her nightstand.

"Thanks, Dan, really. Hero or no, at least he's a happy kid."

"Anything to help." He assures her, answering her smile a platonic one of his own.

"Well," he starts again after a few minutes of companionable silence, "we should, uh, probably head upstairs. Dinner will be done soon."

"Sure thing. Nate!" she yells, wincing slightly as the boy flinches at the loud shout invading his elevated hearing. He pulls the device out of his, turning to regard his mother somewhat edgily. "Dinner time!" She doesn't apologies for her mistake, only smiles and pats the back of his head as he runs by. She's the adult. She doesn't need her child's forgiveness.

Dan and Nate head up first, leaving Nicole to gaze for another few moments in quiet reflection at the Owl's basement. Dan yells at her from the top of the stairs and she turns from the memories, climbing up the stairs to join Nate's excited chatter and Daniel's indulging commentary. The Nite Owl's gadget still hangs from where her son had clipped on his belt, a small piece of the past clinging in silent testimony to the living representation of her future. Her stomach clenches slightly as she realizes she doesn't know how to feel about that.


	6. All We've Lost

It is a little known fact that the tittering giggles and hushed whispers of office secretaries can, at times, sound oddly reminiscent of the same noises made by painted whores gossiping about clients in the predawn hours. As Nicole enters the tenth story lunch room of the Veidt office building, those noises, combined with the wave of discount perfume that assaults her nostrils and the too short skirts and low cut blouses that meet her gaze, cause a small wave of nostalgia to wash through her. Not as strong as the memories that had been resurfacing whenever she glanced through her scrap book in the past week, but enough that she had to bite her tongue against the urge to reign in the slacking employees with a swift slap or pull of the hair.

It wasn't that she held some deep seated belief all members of her sex were secretly whores or some other such garbage, she was sure at least one of the flighty women before her would faint from shock and outrage at the mere suggestion, but stupid women were stupid women no matter what profession they kept. It appeared secretarial work attracted the same basic type of women prostitution did; the secretaries simply had fewer personality disorders. They were probably paid less, too.

"Oh, Nikki! You _have _to see this!" One of the more painted women, the personal secretary for Nicole's direct boss gestured frantically with artificial nails for Nicole to join them at gawking over whatever had made this mornings headlines. It annoyed her to no end that the woman assumed that by virtue of a shared gender alone they were somehow intimate enough to address her by that wretched nickname. Even the Owl had only called her by that once, the look he received in return being more than enough to assure such a thing would never pass his lips again. The girl before her wielded the serene peace shared only by young children and the truly ignorant, however, causing Nicole's repeated threats against her personal safety to fall on, if not deaf ears, than at least an empty head. It was people like her than made the red head truly miss wielding her riding crop.

The vapid stares being directed at her from the group were not going away despite her best blood chilling glare. It was either go over to them now or deal with their over the shoulder glares and poorly concealed whispers for the rest of the week due to her snub. The small beginnings of a headache started pounding behind her eyes as she resigned herself to her fate, stepping into the artificially scented crowd which absorbed her like a sponge.

"Can you believe it?" one nameless female form giggled at her left elbow, leaning far too much into her personal space for Nicole's taste. "I always thought heroes were supposed to be _dashing_ and _romantic_, like Mr. Veidt or Dr. Manhattan," a wave of longing sighs and titters swept through the crowd at the mention of the company head. "Not like _that_. No wonder the police locked him up!"

"What in the nine layers of Hell are you all blabbering ab…" her annoyed query died in her throat as the newspaper headline finally came into view, Nicole's heart stopping mid beat before picking up again at double speed.

"Give me that," she snarled, snatching the paper off the table and backpedaling madly away from the rest of the group, a sea of annoyed moans and protests following her retreating form out of the lunch room and down the hall.

"Hey! I paid for that!"

Her three inch heals clicked loudly against the tiled floor as she marched down the hallway, the newspaper clutched against her chest as if it might attempt to free itself from her grasp. For the first time in years she cursed the fact she didn't read the newspaper or watch televised news regularly, hadn't felt the need since Nite Owl retired and there were no longer articles referencing the masked vigilante for her scrap book. The world was always the same, day after day: people were born, they lived to fuck each other over, and then they died. End of story. No need to waste her time observing all the new and creative ways in which they did it. But to find out about this from that group of brainless, doe eyed Barbie dolls was really too much. She bit her lip as she slammed her office door behind her, locking it swiftly to stop any interruptions. She wondered if the Owl knew yet.

The chair groaned in protest as Nicole practically threw herself into it, slamming the paper onto the desk she started reading, the sheer unreality of the article before her sending a hand searching blindly for her cigarettes without conscious thought. Rorschach arrested last night. Rorschach apprehended by police after murdering a retired old man. Rorschach in Sing Sing, awaiting trail. Rorschach a thirty five year old ginger with a normal, human name, covered in bruises and bleeding like any other person. It was too incredible to be believed.

The lighter trembles in her hand as she ignites what is sure to be the first of a large number of cigarettes. She reads the article five times, nearly the entire front page occupied with the earth shattering news of the New York City Police Department arresting the world's last hero. Celebrating it. In less than two weeks every last crimebuster, save the Owl and the second Specter, had been attacked or put out of commission. The assassination attempt on Adrian Veidt in the very building she now occupied was still sending shock waves through his company's system over twenty four hours later. And now this.

"Fucking psycho was right."

The battered blue eyes of the unmasked Rorschach stare at her in silent condemnation from the top of her desk and she flips the paper over, covering the emotionless face with the black and white of the newspaper. Twenty years ago, when he and his partner had still been young and new to the game and she thought she had enough experience to know how to handle masks, she'd had more than one opportunity to unmask the vicious vigilante. That had never been the nature of their relationship, however. He'd been Rorschach and she'd been the Twilight Lady and whatever faces happened to reside behind the masks were simply immaterial. Even though she'd hung her mask up long ago and the vigilante knew her real name and face that had been her choice. It hadn't been like this. Looking at the stripped bare face of her old enemy felt wrong in a way she couldn't quite describe. Like staring at the naked form of a rape victim. It wasn't a practice people generally found to be acceptable.

All the small knots that had managed to appear during the day caught on her rings and finger nails as she ran a distraught hand through her mane of hair. What if the Owl wasn't okay. She hadn't talked to him in a week, ever since the three of them had eaten the apology dinner together in the nest. The death of Dan Dreiberg, random bird lover and professional shut in, would hardly make headlines. Especially when compared to news like this, or Dr. Manhattans' departure over the weekend. While she still held confidence that the aging man could handle himself in most situations, the arrest of Rorschach turned the whole thing upside down. She had first hand experience of how little the masked man's strength and stealth had changed since the days of their youth. Rorschach wasn't a nearly seventy year old man attacked before bedtime; he was a dangerous and highly mentally disturbed mask who had somehow fallen into a trap, and it had to be a trap, despite his near debilitating level of paranoia. If whoever was behind this decided the Nite Owl was next to go, Nicole doubted Daniel would be up to the task of stopping them. Lighting up her second smoke, the retired villain had to admit she probably wouldn't be either.

If something had happened she could…could what? Look for clues? Go rescue him? The idea of her dusting off the mask and fighting her way past whatever assailant had been plaguing the crimebusters was ridiculous at best, and blatantly suicidal at the worst. In her youth she'd only been able to combat Nite Owl and Rorschach with superior numbers and fire power. She'd be worse than useless in a rescue mission.

She'd have to find help, she supposed. The only hero really left to turn to was the retired Ozymandias. While she knew Veidt was well aware of her past identity, the thought of going to her former enemy-by-default and current boss for mask related business made her skin crawl. She would have had no problem hunting down Rorschach to rescue the retired Owl. Rorschach and she had history, real history, not the awkward connection of having once been in competing fields during the same time period. There was always the second Silk Specter, if she got truly desperate for help. But the scantily dressed heroine had always seemed like nothing more than a publicity stunt to her. Like the original Specter. Like what Ozymandias had become. No. She really had no idea what steps she could take if the Owl had been harmed.

Regardless of what she would or would not do if the Owl were in trouble, she needed to know. Even if everything was fine, Daniel would probably appreciate checking up on him after hearing about Rorschach's arrest. That was if he hadn't already gone and done something stupid for the sake of his former partner. The thought drew a groan from the red head, adding yet another worrying 'what if' to her pile of nauseating possibilities.

This was, most certainly, the last time she allowed that flock of brainless harpies to drag her into their little circle, no matter what they had to say.

Third cigarette. It was time to make the call. The phone cradled carefully between her ear and shoulder, she dialed the nest with one free hand, the other clutching her chair's arm rest tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. She closed her eyes as the phone rang, concentrating on the demand that the Owl answer his phone as if she could force him to be home and alive and well through sheer force of will. If he was out somewhere safe and happy, lecturing about his birds or having a lunch out, she was going to kill him later. If he were out plotting the rescue of his old partner, she was going to wait until he did it, and then kill them both. Nicole had the feeling such an act would spare her a lot of future stress.

Any homicidal considerations were quickly put to rest as the Owl's usual hesitant voice replaced the obnoxious shrill ring of the phone.

"What the hell are you doing home?"

"I, uh, what?" The confusion in his voice would entertain her if she wasn't so worked up from worrying over his safety and future plans. "Hold on a minute…"

Nicole blinked in surprise as Dan's voice suddenly became muffled; he'd apparently placed his hand over the receiver to block a side conversation from carrying over the phone. It didn't entirely cut off the sounds, however, and she was rather certain that was a distinctly irritated female voice demanding to know who was calling. It didn't speak highly of Daniel's reputation with women that the first thought to cross her mind was the mask killer was a woman and currently holding him hostage rather than the more logical conclusion of him having a guest.

"Hey, sorry about that, Nic, just, uh, entertaining right now."

"If they're in your house against your will, Dan, say 'Nothing much' right now."

"_What?_"

"Do they have the line tapped?"

"Nicole, I…I can't even imagine what you're getting at. Are you okay?"

"Dan, who is in the house with you?"

"Laurie, Laurie Jupit…Juspeczyk. You know, the, uh…"

"I know who she is, Daniel."

Christ, that woman worked fast. It was a matter of public record that the Silk Specter had survived since the age of eighteen by being Dr. Manhattan's personal companion. No other job, resources, or talents, as far as Nicole knew, outside of some basic martial art skill. Now it seemed the formally government supported escort, once her meal ticket had left the planet, had wasted no time in slipping into the pants of next available watchman. Nicole was sure the Specter would have gone for the far more economically viable Veidt if the man's preference weren't what they were. The former Vice Queen was mildly impressed.

"Oh, right." The phone was muffled again; apparently a brief argument over the appropriateness of the Owl telling the world the retired Specter was living with him was taking place. The red head took the opportunity to light her fourth cigarette, drumming her painted nails on the well polished wood of her desk until the Owl's voice returned at normal volume.

"So, ah, what's going on? It's not like you to call in the middle of the day."

"Well, it's not exactly a normal day, is it?"

"Oh?" The confusion in his voice had to be faked. It had been a while since the Owl had had anything to hide from her; it was surprising how good he was at it. Then again, it was much harder to pick up his deception without the tell tale signs of his expression and body language to help her out.

"Rorschach. He's in prison."

"Oh …that."

"Yes. That. I hope you're not thinking of doing anything stupid."

"What do you mean?"

The confusion was back and Nicole was starting to get concerned. Nite Owl had busted into the headquarters of major crime figures in the old days to pull his partner's ass out of the fire. Granted, he usually caused as many problems for his partner as he solved, but he still tried. Daniel's tone, however, seemed to imply no consideration of assisting his former friend had even entered his mind until she spoke up. Her stomach churned in nausea at the idea that the Nite Owl really wasn't around anymore.

"Something stupid, like trying to get him out before the other prisoners or the guards, for that matter, have the chance to kill him off." She spoke the words slowly, hoping against all logic and evidence to the contrary that the man on the other end was simply a far better actor than she had previously taken him for.

"Get him out of Sing Sing?" The voice was surprised, shocked even. The bile from her stomach slammed against the back of her mouth, mixing unpleasantly with the acidic taste of smoke and tar.

"He's your friend." She accused, her voice little more than a whisper of the lump of disgust building in her throat.

"Nic…" Daniel, not the Nite Owl, started with a sigh, only to pause suddenly. "Hold on, okay?"

The voices went soft once more, but she could make out the basics of the discussion. She'd never guessed the Specter, another member of the crimebusters, would share her feelings on the masked vigilante's sanity. The sheer disdain and moral superiority that dripped from the woman's voice made her spiraling disappointment in Daniel shift into something harder, however. Something darker. She thought she heard a small sigh, and the sounds of high heels against hard wood fading into the distance over the phone line. When Daniel returned to their conversation, anger had settled firmly in the small hole the Nite Owl's absence had left in her chest.

"Ah, sorry about that…"

"Why," Nicole growled, cutting of the pathetic man before he had a chance to explain, "don't you tell your slut to stay out of matters that don't concern her and get back to what she's good at: staring at the bedroom ceilings of real heroes."

"Nicole! What the _hell _is wrong with you today?"

"No, Dan. What the fuck is wrong with _you._ Christ, is this how you were like when we started out? Dropping your friends and responsibilities for the first piece of tail that came your way? Maybe I really do owe Rorschach an apology if this is how you acted when we started fucking."

"Jesus Christ, Nicole. What are you even talking about?! You called me to make sure I _wasn't_ going to do anything, didn't you? Why are you getting so upset!"

"Because I thought I'd have something to talk you out of, Daniel! He's your friend goddamn it. You're the fucking Nite Owl, you're supposed to care when bad things happen to your partner!"

"Rorschach and I aren't partners anymore. And I haven't been the Nite Owl in a long time."

"You sure as hell got that right." The urge to slam the phone back onto the receiver was nearly overwhelming, but she resisted. She wasn't done with him yet.

"I've been in prison, Dan. I know what it's like and they…" she paused, attempting to get her voice under control. "They are going to kill him. Kill. Him. There isn't going to be a trial, no matter what the papers like to say. The shrink they're getting him isn't going to get him transferred to a nut house. Unless someone does something, he is going to die."

"Nicole, really, I think you're over reacting. This is Sing Sing, not some poorly staffed prison. They've got him under constant guard, and the media would go nuts if this doesn't make it to trial. Besides… I, uh, well I always thought you didn't even like him."

"I don't. Personally, I think he deserves every horrible, fucked up thing that's going to happen to him in there. Every atrocity will still be too good for that psycho. But you, Dan…you're supposed to care. You're supposed to be a hero." She hated how pleading her voice had become, how needy.

There was a pause and sigh on the other end, and she dared to hope for a second that Daniel was finally coming back around. The tired voice that crept over the line made her close her eyes in resignation, however, the cold truth finally settling on her shoulders after nearly a decade of denial.

"They don't allow heroes anymore, Nic."

"No." She stated hollowly, "I guess they don't."

"Look, ah…why don't we meet up…?"

The rest of Dan's commentary was lost as she set the phone back into it's receiver with a gentle click. She didn't slam the item, didn't throw the objects on her desk against the wall in mad fury, didn't do anything but bury her face in her hands. The cigarette fell from limp fingers to the desk top, soon mixing with the small drops of salt water dripping from between her fingers.

The mask killer had his victory, it seemed. There were no heroes any more.

_AN: We are getting closer to the end. The plan is for another three chapters; four at the most, with the story ending at the same time the Watchmen ends. All the usual requests for constructive criticism and comments still stand. Thank you to everyone has followed the story this far, and especially to my reviewers._

_On a side note, I am seriously considering taking down the chapter where Dan and Rorschach talk. While I enjoyed writing it and liked it at the time, I'm concerned it doesn't fit in overly well with the rest of the story and that it has fallen into the too sappy trap that so many Nite Owl/Rorschach fics are prey to. If you have a suggestion for one way or another on that, or on anything else, please leave me a note or send an email to __ . _


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